Werewolf Dog
by DredPirateBones
Summary: Gilbert, a werewolf, pretends to be a sled dog for his best friend. His first encounter with other werewolves do not go as one would think. PruCan at the end with small hints of UsUk.


"Nein." Gilbert deadpanned.

"Oh come on!" Elizabeta whined from the other end of the phone. The high pitch of her voice made Gilbert wince. "Gil, Spike's pad broke open and the Iditarod is in three days! There's no way it's going to heal by then, help me out!"

Gilbert switched his cell phone to his other ear and held it in place with his shoulder as he stuck his hands wrist deep into the raw hamburger meat he had sitting in a bowl on the counter.

Hamburgers tonight, baby, and if West didn't like it, then he could suck it! So what if Gilbert ate a lot of meat? Meat was awesome!

"I don't mind pretending to be a dog, Liz, but I will be a lead dog and nothing less if I'm going to haul your skinny ass from Nome to bum-fuck Anchorage,"

Elizabeta sighed heavily "It's from Anchorage to Nome, get it right."

"Watch out, ladies and gentlemen, the Queen of Sass is back,"

"Gil!"

"Lead dog or nothing." Gilbert stated firmly.

"Uuhhgg," Elizabeta groaned. "Fine," There was a pause in which Gilbert knew a barb was about to get dug into his side and he braced himself for it. "Y'know, I'm surprised your little werewolf pride is allowing you to lower yourself to a 'dog'."

Ouch.

"Listen here, Flower Power—"

"I'm not a man, that's not an insult."

"—when we were kids you thought you were—"

"Shut up!"

"—I live in _Germany_ ," Gilbert stressed. "As beautiful as this place can be, it's slightly smaller than Montana and Alaska is much bigger than that. Given the comparison, I have nowhere to run, nowhere to go, and now you call and offer me the chance to run across the largest state in America. You're giving me the world, Liz. Open land, cold air in my lungs, blood pumping, new scents to smell," Gilbert shivered in anticipation. "I think I just came in my pants."

"Wow," Elizabeta drawled, unimpressed. "Why am I friends with you again?"

"Because I'm awesome!"

* * *

Gilbert was getting a few looks from the other mushers once he was harnessed and strapped in line at the front of Elizabeta's team. He was big, for a dog, and looked like he would be of better use as a wheel dog then a lead dog, if the muscle in his shoulders had anything to say about it. His coloring only served to attract more attention; his fur was grey at the roots and faded to silvery white at the tips. The muscle on his shoulders and haunches spoke of a feral kind of animalistic power that belonged only to a wolf but Elizabeta had covered that by putting a red jacket on him over his harness.

Gilbert twisted his ears back in irritation and lowered his head to glare at his musher as she kneeled to begin strapping on neon yellow booties. He had not signed up for this humiliation! The other dogs got booties too but they were black and Gilbert had to wonder if Elizabeta was just screwing with him at this point. Honestly, he wouldn't put it passed her either. Not after her several reactions over the years to his more canine-like tendencies.

 _"_ _Gil, chill out. I can get you a stress ball if you need one."_

"I will let you cut my hair if you let me play fetch with you right now!"

"Oh my God! The groomer put bows in your fur!"

"Come here, Gilbert, let's go to the park. I even bought you a collar and a leash!"

"Hey, Gilbert, when you're a wolf do you have a hard time standing up in the car like a dog does?"

"I will buy you ice cream if you pretend to be my pet on the drive over."

"Does Ludwig ever take you to Doggy Daycare as punishment when you dig holes in the yard?"

"Instead of all that meat, why not just eat dog food every now and then?"

Gilbert huffed at the memories. Perhaps he should take a day to question his choice of friends. He was yanked out of his thoughts when Elizabeta cupped his lupine face and forced eye contact.

"Gilbert, I need you to remember and understand something. These dogs behind you are athletes, they need to run, but they don't have the same stamina as you so try to go easy on them. You're the lead dog, which means that you're setting the pace. If I tell you stop, do so, and if you feel one of them lagging behind, slow down." Gilbert took a moment to let it sink in before he nodded. "That's my good boy." Elizabeta cooed while giving Gilbert's fur a good ruffling.

The albino should have seen it coming but it still surprised him enough that he swayed with the movement.

* * *

 _Dogs_ , Gilbert sneered to himself. _Are cowardly bastards._

Standing in place at the starting line, Gilbert had been prepared for the odd looks he received from the other mushers. He knew how strange he looked; he was too big and too strong to be a lead dog and his coloring had always directed people's eyes to him. To top it all off, the red coat made his crimson eyes stand out in contrast to his silvery white fur. The dogs around him were either jumping in place in their excitement to run or were growling and snapping their teeth at him in their uneasiness to be around him. They could tell that he wasn't a dog but he wasn't completely a wolf either.

Gilbert was smarter, stronger, a fiercer predator then any they had ever seen and it was putting them on edge.

The dogs in his own team had gotten used to him and didn't fear him anymore but that wasn't so for the others. They were trying to hide that fear by attempting to bully him. Strength in numbers, he guessed. It wasn't working. Snarls of 'half breed', 'go home', and that one brave fool that called him 'Snowflake' were soundly ignored as Gilbert and his team stood still and ready to bolt forward. Gilbert looked back over his shoulder and bared his teeth at Elizabeta, when she tightened her grip on the sled and crouched down further, he turned back towards the front. Satisfied that she wouldn't get thrown off when they started.

Gilbert lowered his head and let the sounds of the dogs barking and the people cheering wash over him and fade away. Far ahead of him, he could see the starting gun behind raised, crimson eyes locked firmly onto the trigger finger as it was slowly squeezed. The gun went off. Gilbert pushed himself off the snow with such force that a few of the dogs behind him got dragged forward before they could get their paws back under them. Elizabeta yelped but didn't fall off. Gilbert couldn't help himself but let his mouth fall open in a mockery of a smile as the multiple teams rushed ahead, behind and beside him.

Paws pounding on the snow, Gilbert could already feel the animal side, stir. He had always been in-tuned to the wolf part of himself and had always indulged it, even if Ludwig did force him to refill the holes he dug in the yard, but it had never felt like this. The further away Gilbert ran from Anchorage and the deeper he got into the wilderness, the stronger it became. It was like a drug, it was rushing along his body and into his bone marrow. It felt awesome. Gilbert was so focused on simply chasing after that feeling that he hadn't realized he had pulled the team to the front of the pack until he was neck and neck with the other lead dog.

It didn't entirely register that he and his team were being growled and snarled at, _threatened_ , until he glanced over at the dog running beside him. Ears pinned back, eyes narrowed, teeth flashed, drool flew, and then there was pain in his side as the dog dug it's fangs into his ribs. Elizabeta and the other musher started shouting in outrage but Gilbert couldn't make out what they were saying or if they were shouting at each other or the dog. It didn't matter. Before he could so much as think of what he was doing, Gilbert retaliated and bit down on the back of the dog's neck.

Gilbert let his front legs buckle slightly. The result was instant. The extra weight suddenly on the dog's neck forcibly ripped its fangs out of Gilbert's side but it also drove the dog face first into the ground. The other team quickly found itself in a dog-sled-human pileup, complete with sharp yips of surprise and whines of pain but Gilbert could only smirk to himself as he looked forward again.

 _Bitch deserved it._ He thought and judging by Elizabeta's lack of scolding, the thought was entirely mutual.

"You okay, Gil!?" She had to almost shout for him to hear her. Gilbert looked over his shoulder and let his mouth drop open and his tongue fall out in his version of a 'lupine grin' before he turned to the front again. They ran for miles and Gilbert had to admire the stamina his team showed. The albino never thought of himself as a leader but even he couldn't deny how easy it came to him now. Gilbert would slow down to a jog for two miles and then start running again for four. The small rest kept them going at a steady pace and the dogs never complained. In fact the wheel dogs, Jekyll and Hyde, would sometimes bark out raunchy jokes during the time when they jogged, much to the amusement of the rest of the team.

Gilbert had raised his eyebrow at Elizabeta when he had first been introduced to them but she had simple shrugged and said 'They're twins' and left it at that. The pair of dogs directly behind Gilbert, the swing dogs, where named Crash and Burn. Behind them, the team dogs, where Ace and Spade. That was about the time Gilbert had declared how done he was with Elizabeta's choice in names.

Gilbert didn't let them stop until the sun had disappeared and the moon had been high in the sky for a while. Elizabeta fed the team first before she started gathering firewood. Gilbert changed back into his human skin, heedless of the freezing air on his naked form, and helped her get the fire started. It was only after she had eaten that he allowed her to take a look at his ribs. Thankfully the skin had only been bruised; Gilbert's thick white fur took the brunt of the bite and left the skin underneath relatively untouched.

Of course that didn't stop Elizabeta from punching him in said bruised side for indecent exposer.

* * *

That was how Gilbert ran the team for the next few days. Elizabeta would feed them breakfast, then herself, and once everyone was in their proper place, Gilbert ran. And every day Gilbert could feel the primitive side of him wake up just a little bit more and he found that he could ignore his domesticated side. His pads got much tougher to the point that he didn't need the neon yellow boots and so he shed them and told Elizabeta to use them as spares for the dogs.

Gilbert never hated the softer side of himself before because that was the side that Ludwig had grown up with. That was the side that his baby brother—no matter how tall or broad he got, Ludwig would _always_ be Gilbert's baby brother. The West to his East—knew, loved, played with, and embraced.

But now Gilbert was slowly coming to hate how domesticated he truly was and that scared him. In a sense he wasn't really changing, he was still himself, but at the same time he could feel himself becoming something that belonged to the wild. It wasn't long before Gilbert was using his set pace as a way to hold himself back instead of its original purpose to conserve energy and drag out the team's stamina to match his own.

On the fourth day, after Elizabeta had unhitched them from the sled, Gilbert couldn't hold still and so he took to pacing around the camp, staying just outside of the fire's warm light and ignored Jekyll and Hyde's advice to lie down and rest. Something was building inside his stomach and he wasn't sure if it was dangerous to his friends or not. It was something primal, something that hungered for warm, _red_ liquid to run down Gilbert's throat and coat his fangs.

When Elizabeta fed them that night it clicked into place like a well-worn puzzle piece. He didn't want to be fed he wanted to hunt. Gilbert couldn't simply suppress his gut instinct. That night it snowed and the temperature dropped. Elizabeta moved her sleeping bag to the top of the sled; Gilbert gave his red coat to Burn, the smallest of them, and had the dogs pile up on top of Elizabeta to keep them all warm during the night.

When morning came, Gilbert was the first one awake. He had frost in his fur, as did they all, but Elizabeta was untouched by the elements and, Gilbert supposed, that was the important thing. He jumped off his friend and hopped in place for a few minutes to get his blood pumping again. Gilbert left his team and best friend to sleep a little longer as he changed into his human skin and got the fire going.

They were close to Ruby, the sixth checkpoint, and Gilbert was determined to make it through Ruby and into Galena by tonight to run his raising wildness out of himself. And if it took him 50 miles in eight hours in order to do so then so be it. Gilbert's breath hung in the air with each exhale before slowly disappearing like a winter ghost. The forest they were in was still, silent, as if it was holding its breath; the kind of silence that preambles a storm. Lifting his chin, Gilbert breathed in deeply as he scented the air but nothing appeared to be out of place.

It wasn't until he stopped and actually took a moment to slow down instead of worrying about the itching need under his skin that told him to hunt and taste fresh blood that Gilbert noticed the fog. It had stopped snowing sometime during the night and a thick fog had rolled in to take its place. Crimson eyes flicked back and forth but, again, nothing was out of place.

Gilbert allowed himself a few seconds to toy with the idea that he was just tired and making a big deal out of nothing. It was cold and birds liked to sleep. But those few seconds didn't stop him from spinning on his heel and waking up Elizabeta's team by vigorously rubbing the frost out of their pelts.

One dog at a time didn't stay that way as all animals had a tendency to wake up as soon as they were touched; shaking out one dog disturbed the dogs on either side which, in turn, woke them up in a sort of domino effect. Having her warm furry blanket suddenly start squirming and then shrink until it was gone caused Elizabeta to wake up just as Gilbert was starting to rub down the last dog, Spade. Although, to be fair, Burn didn't need to be rubbed down because the coat had kept the frost off her fur but Gilbert had done it anyway to keep his hands busy.

"Get up, woman," Gilbert said as he jabbed Elizabeta's leg twice. His voice was deeper than normal and held a wolf's growl in the undertone but it was by no means a menacing sound. Elizabeta's eyes widened in surprise all the same.

"Gilbert, what—"

"It's time to go." Elizabeta stared up at him for a moment before sighing. She rubbed the sleep out of her eyes as she wiggled out of her warm sleeping bag and packed it away. While Elizabeta fed the team and herself, Gilbert paced with his bowl in hand and popped the chunks of dog food into his mouth like cereal. By the time the team was hitched up the albino werewolf was so tense that his fur was standing on end. The dogs had picked up on their leader's uneasiness and were as silent as the grave; the only sound that came from them was their breathing.

* * *

It started as a whisper among the trees, a silent secret, a hushed command to run as fast as Gilbert's legs could carry him. They had broken the tree line and now raced across a flat plain of snow, able to see in all directions without anything to obstruct their view yet the storm still blindsided them. It must have come from behind them and Gilbert imagined it might have looked something akin to a sandstorm as it swallowed them.

The snowflakes turned into small needles of ice that bit through Gilbert's fur and stung his eyes. The dogs yipped in surprise at the first jolts of pain as they ducked their heads low and blindly followed their leader. Gilbert's eyes were nothing more than crimson slits as he ran through the ocean of white, he didn't know where he was in relation to the rest of the world and his wild side tried to rise but Gilbert smacked it back down.

They ran for what felt like hours. The frigid air and ice shards burned their lungs but Gilbert didn't let up on them. The wild side was finally dying and, for the first time since the race started, Gilbert felt like himself again. The cold soaked through his fur and gave him a headache and his paws had gone numb sometime along the way. A small ball of light suddenly winked into existence through the whiteout, like a siren out at sea calling unsuspecting sailors to their death. And, like one of those sailors, Gilbert headed for the light without much thought.

When they got to Ruby, the race officials and veterinarians didn't bother with the usual checkups to make sure the entire team remained uninjured, instead they ushered Elizabeta and the dogs into a large tent and covered the sled before they made a hasty retreat to their own warm tents. Gilbert was too exhausted to question the lack of medical attention to a musher that might have had frostbite somewhere. She doesn't but her face, where her thermal mask didn't cover, was raw and wind burnt.

The white werewolf flopped onto the ground beside the heater in a heap. Elizabeta took the time to peel off her outer layers before she crouched down next to Gilbert and stretched her hands out to the heater.

Slowly, the paralyzing cold melted away as warmth seeped into Gilbert's body. He was still laying where he fell when Elizabeta stood up and put out food for the dogs. She left the tent for a moment but it was enough time for Gilbert to roll onto his back and shift, his eyes firmly shut. The smell of the stew that the race officials always had at each checkpoint heralded her return, he was able to ignore her until her boot nudged his side. Opening his eyes, Elizabeta stood over him with a bowl in each hand.

Gilbert sat up with a groan and took the offered bowl. They sat together in silence as they ate and listened to the storm rage, surprisingly the canvas of the tent didn't flutter too much. The stew warmed Gilbert from the inside with each bite he swallowed. It wasn't the first hot meal he'd had since the start of this race but he could honestly say it tasted more delicious than anything he'd ever tasted in his life. Dimly, Gilbert was aware that his left foot was stinging but he pushed it aside so that he could pay the food in his bowl the proper attention it deserved.

Elizabeta blindly reached out behind her and grabbed the quilt off of the provided bed and dumped it in Gilbert's lap. The werewolf snorted in amusement. Honestly, she was such a prude.

"You know, punctuality may not be a uniquely German trait but I must say you certainly do it better than anyone," Elizabeta said and set her bowl aside. The albino didn't reply until he had emptied his bowl. The Hungarian at his side waited patiently, knowing that food was more important to Gilbert than small talk, especially after being in his wolf form for so long.

"What are you getting at?" Gilbert asked as he reached across Elizabeta and stacked his bowl on hers before he flopped back down onto his back.

"Just because this race _can_ be done in nine days doesn't mean it _should_ be. Gil, are you even aware that you split your pad open and that your foot has been bleeding ever since?" That would explain the sting. Although it truly wasn't that big of a deal, Gilbert healed faster than most, his foot would be whole again by morning. He was so sure of it that he'd bet his beer stein on it.

"Your dogs are fine, Flower Power, trust me they're enjoying the workout a little too much,"

"Then what has gotten your tail tied in a knot?"

"I think I'm going insane." Gilbert bemoaned and laid his forearm across his eyes.

"I don't think 'going' is the right word,"

"Liz, stop joking for a minute," Gilbert groaned. "Do you remember when Ludwig asked me to turn him and I couldn't bring myself to bite him?"

"Yeah, he got mad at you and ran to my house. He told me that he wanted to be just like you when he grew up, fur and all, but you wouldn't let him. He thought that he had somehow lost your love."

Gilbert inhaled deeply and then let it out in a slow stream from his nose. "…As I am now…I could."

* * *

It was quiet now, a small slice of peace in the chaos that was Gilbert's mind, like the eye of a hurricane. The silence was all consuming and hurt his ears after the storm from last night. Gilbert stood just outside of town with his ears perked and crimson gaze firmly locked on the dark smudge on the horizon. It was a forest, one that he knew he _could_ enter but something told him that he _shouldn't_.

 _Trespassing._ Gilbert thought to himself. _It'll feel like I'm trespassing._ The realization was a strange one because, while he'd felt it constantly in his rebellious teen years, this was the first time Gilbert had felt that ominous 'Stay away' vibe while in his wolf form. It made him uneasy and irritated to know that he would be leading his pack mate into such a place.

Gilbert's eyes widened and he shook his head until he felt light headed. Pack mate?! That Hungarian piece of work? She was a friend, at best, and a skinny little brat, at worst. This was it; Gilbert had officially lost his awesome, beer loving, mind. Elizabeta wasn't part of Gilbert's pack because only Ludwig had that honor!

Gilbert didn't need anyone else, fuck you very much!

But, as he turned and started to make his way back to his team, he knew that his wild side was starting to change the way he thought about the world. Gilbert felt sick, like he wanted to retch, and he wasn't entirely sure if it had anything to do with the full moon tonight or not.

Before the teams are allowed to leave Ruby, the dogs finally get their checkups. Gilbert was having none of it, he needed to keep running, needed to keep the wildness out from under his skin and sitting still wasn't helping. As soon as the vet assigned to Elizabeta's team touched his snout he growled, deep in his chest and as low and as menacing as he could. The vet flinched but after a moment of shock, he tried it again, only to have Gilbert snap at him. The vet was foolish enough to smack Gilbert on the nose. The wildness that Gilbert had been trying to keep back suddenly came back with a vengeance.

His body moved without his permission. Gilbert lunged at the vet with the full intention of tasting blood; it was only the harness holding him back that saved the vet's face from being torn open.

In the end, Elizabeta had to force him to sit by straddling his back, knees firmly squeezing his shoulders to keep him still, and hold his mouth open while the vet checked his gums and teeth.

Gilbert's continued growling went mostly ignored.

* * *

Gilbert let his knees give out as he fell to the snow on his ass. Pulling one leg up to rest his elbow on his knee, Gilbert rested his face in his hand. The warm golden orange light from the setting sun did nothing to chase the ice from his veins. Elizabeta's boots crunched over the snow as she moved about getting the team settled in for the night. Gilbert chose to concentrate on the sound, now that he wasn't in his wolf form there was a new burning itch to transform that had its claws firmly dug into him.

"What's wrong, you look like shit," Elizabeta said in lieu of a greeting as she sat down beside her best friend.

"Thanks," Gilbert mumbled sarcastically, not picking up his head or moving his hand.

"Seriously, Gilbert, what's wrong? You've been acting weird for a while now," Gilbert snorted but didn't say anything. Instead, he let the following silence drag on uncomfortably. How could he possibly tell her that he wasn't completely comfortable with his wolf anymore? That he was starting to fear it? Elizabeta didn't say anything but nor did she move away. A gloved hand gently settled itself on Gilbert's pale shoulder.

Damn it.

"…Something feels wrong. I don't know how to explain it but it just doesn't feel like it used to. The more I fight it, the worse it gets." Gilbert ducked his head further in an attempt to hide from Elizabeta's impending negative reaction. Elizabeta's hand yanked itself from his shoulder as if burned but before Gilbert could so much as bite his lip that same hand came down on the back of his head for a sound smacking. Gilbert yelped.

"So stop fighting it, dip shit!" Elizabeta shouted at him.

"You don't fucking get it!" Gilbert rounded on her, his hands making fists in the snow at his sides. "I'm afraid that I might turn on you if I shift again!" Elizabeta's hands came up to his chest were a shirt collar would be if he had been wearing one. He watched her stutter as her hands sought out something to grab onto that just wasn't there.

"Why aren't you wearing a shirt so I can shake you with it!?" Elizabeta finally opted to simply grab Gilbert's hair. He let her. Elizabeta rested her forehead against Gilbert's with a 'thunk' as she took a moment to collect herself. "Gilbert, if that does happen, then you get to say 'I told you so'."

Gilbert heaved a heavy sigh. How in the world did he manage to find such an understanding friend such as her? His grandmother had understood but only because she was a werewolf as well and then old age got her. His mother had understood, a tiny bit, because his dad had been a werewolf too. But she died giving life to Ludwig and his father had been shot when he was out hunting one day. So how could Elizabeta, who has only known Gilbert, be so understanding of him?

"You're a good friend and I love you, Elizabeta," When she opened her mouth to reply, Gilbert hastily added, "No hetero."

"If that ever changes, let me know so I can run in the opposite direction." Elizabeta snorted with a giggle. The corner of Gilbert's mouth twitched up in a sad parody of a smile before he gently took Elizabeta's hands from his hair and stood up.

"I don't know what's gonna happen but whatever does, whatever you hear, stay away." Gilbert waited until she nodded and then he turned and walked away, through the trees and naked underbrush until he couldn't see the team anymore. He walked as if he was a man condemned to the gallows. He walked until his toes were numbed from the snow, until the sun died in the sky. He didn't stop, not even when his legs spasmed underneath him and threated to give out.

Gilbert's foot slipped over the snow, pitching him over the side of an embankment, he tumbled a few times before coming to a stop looking up at the night sky through the thin tree branches stretched out above him. It was there, laying in a ditch that Gilbert waited for the moon's light to reach him.

He did not have to wait long.

With the patience only Death knows, the pale beams of light slowly wrapped around Gilbert's prone form. The air seemed to steal any words Gilbert may have had before they were even spoken, like the long indrawn breath before a scream. The shift was involuntary. Gilbert's bones cracked and shifted in place, grinding against each other at times, as they elongated. His skin stretched to its limits, thousands of needle pricks stung him as pure white fur broke through the skin. Gilbert's mouth was open as he thrashed and writhed. The albino was in such pain that screaming was beyond him.

It felt like he was dying.

His heart beat painfully against his ribs, his nails turned black, his spine finally broke through and became a tail. Gilbert threw his head back so hard his skull cracked from the force of it. His jaw dislocated out of its socket as his face and head shifted. Gilbert's ears grew pointed and migrated onto the top of his head. The soft membrane around Gilbert's brain split and tore, sending him into a violent seizure. When it finally stopped; the great white wolf that remained behind struggled to its feet. It shook its massive head lightly, as if trying to shake itself awake after being stunned, before it lifted itself onto his hind legs and stood up properly.

It opened its eyes to reveal feral, blood crimson, eyes and Gilbert recognized nothing.

* * *

The sound of fighting filled Matthew's ears, even though he had them firmly plastered against his lupine skull. The golden werewolf had lived in Alaska ever since he came down from Canada but he had never seen such a bear as great and terrifying as the one that stood before him now. The small pack of three had been wrestling amongst themselves when the bear arrived. It threw them around as easily as if it were tossing fish onto a river bank.

The bear was big, bigger than any bear had the right to be, and it was stalking towards Alfred with slow, measured steps. It knew that he wouldn't move; that there was no hurry. The bear could savor the anticipation. The pack's Alpha was a mixture of brown and tan with ocean blue eyes, however the blood on him stained his fur a few shades darker. It looked wrong. Alfred was strong; he rarely got injured and, when he did, he didn't bleed! Not like this at least.

Alfred was backed up against a fallen tree, his ears forward, tail up, and hackles raised. He looked every bit the furious Alpha that he was, even if he had his back leg gingerly curled up against his stomach with blood trickling from a deep set of claw marks on his hip and thigh. Arthur, a light brown wolf with black on his back and green eyes, was firmly pinned underneath the tree Alfred was defending.

Arthur wasn't moving.

Matthew was struggling to breathe through the pain of his shattered ribcage healing and his collapsed lung expanding again. That bear hit like its paws were crafted out of iron, Matthew mused as he glared at the back of the beast's head and low growls were emitted from his throat. Part of him wished that the fresh scent of blood would attract something bigger, something that could take down the Bear from Hell. But the other part despaired over just what kind of creature that terrible might turn out to be; certainly nothing friendly.

Matthew howled an unnecessary warning at Alfred as the bear lunged and, suddenly, as if it was by his thoughts alone that summoned it, a great white werewolf came leaping over the fallen tree and smashed into the bear. The force of the tackle knocked the bear onto its back and they rolled a few times before the werewolf was kicked off and sent into a tree. Matthew blinked several times as he tried to wrap his head around what he was seeing. The white werewolf was terrible to behold. The bear, at least, had some amount of intelligence in its eyes but the crazed werewolf towering over them only had the need to destroy shinning in its bloody orbs.

It moved soundlessly, a true predator—a monster—that wouldn't remember a thing after it was allowed to turn back into a human. The moon didn't hold the same sway over their kind like it used too but, sometimes, when a human had been in a large city with no room to let the wolf completely out, situations like this happened. Without the beast being let out, the two entities couldn't mesh together and so there would always be a defined line between the two. But once the wolf was given enough room it would bash against its cage until it was let out, the ending result was the humanoid, mindless, raging monster found in movies.

The white werewolf was only slightly smaller than the bear, but not by much, with a barrel chest, broad shoulders, and powerful thighs. The bear heaved itself up until it was standing on its back legs and roared. Matthew shivered as the werewolf tilted its head and _smiled_ before it stepped forward and roared back. They stood still, regarding each other for a moment, but then the werewolf lunged and the bear met it head on. The fight that followed was a mess.

Matthew couldn't decide if the bear was stupid or simply didn't give a fuck because any other living creature that knew what self-preservation was would have known it was wiser, and less hazardous to ones health, to back off instead of stepping up. They clashed in a flurry of snapping jaws, sweeping claws, and loud snarling before Matthew's attention was dragged away from them and towards Alfred and Arthur. Despite the urge to go to Alfred's aid and get Arthur out from under the fallen tree, his healing body wasn't allowing him to move.

So he watched; one eye on the twisting forms of bear and wolf, and the other eye firmly glued to Alfred's frantic attempts at digging around Arthur's prone body in a wild gambit to get enough space between fur and bark until he could drag Arthur out. Not unlike digging underneath a fence. Finally, Matthew felt the last bone crunch into place. He was on his feet and running towards Alfred before the pain of shifting bone had fully dissipated, skirting around the two fighting beasts. In the back of his head, Matthew felt amazement at how much blood had already dyed the snow red in such a short amount of time.

The golden werewolf kept his eyes firmly locked on Arthur as he skid to a halt and started digging. With both Matthew and Alfred digging, the hole around Arthur's body quickly grew deep enough that the tree was no longer touching him as he sank down into the hole. As Alfred bit down into Arthur's scruff and began hauling him out, Matthew turned to face the bear and unknown werewolf. Just in time to see the bear come down on the werewolf's chest with its front paws, the tree it was backed up against shook, the bear reared back and came back down again. Matthew's heart was beating so fast it nearly hurt but he couldn't take his eyes off the bear as it came down yet again.

There was a loud snap as something in the werewolf's chest broke but instead of slowing the monster down it only made it fight back harder and with more ferocity. When the bear came down once more, the werewolf reached forward and clamped its teeth firmly into the bear's face. Alfred barked, causing Matthew to tear his gaze away from what happened next. His Alpha was several feet away, he barked again before he grabbed Arthur's scruff and started to drag him away. Matthew scrambled to catch up with them.

* * *

Gilbert woke up covered in blood and with no memory of what happened or why his body ached in the places it did. At first, he feared the blood had come from one of the other mushers and their dogs but when he tentatively licked his hand that fear was punched out of him like a fist to the gut. Gilbert had never tasted it before but some deep part of him knew that the blood belonged to a bear. When he finally managed to get up and make his way back to Elizabeta, she didn't say anything, simply took Gilbert by the shoulders and used the snow to clean off as much blood as she could.  
Gilbert could only sit and stare into the middle distance as a sense of finally being whole consumed him.

There was no 'wild side' or 'domestic side' there was only 'Gilbert Beilschmidt the albino werewolf'. Human and Wolf had, _finally_ after all these years, completely meshed and bonded into one entity. Something it had been trying to do ever since the start of the race. Once Gilbert was as clean as he was going to get, he changed into a wolf; somehow it was easier now. Elizabeta fed the team and hooked them up.

Even though Gilbert didn't move gingerly, somehow the dogs still knew he was aching. That day none of them so much as huffed a complaint when Gilbert ran them at a much slower pace. However, to make up for it, it was completely dark out when they finally stopped. Gilbert went through the motions in a sort of daze. He let Elizabeta unhook him from the sled, he ate, and then he wandered away from her, the team, and the fire to throw himself at the ground and stay there. His body didn't ache anymore, one of the perks he supposed, but he was still exhausted from the day.

The fire crackling behind him filled the silence. Without looking, he knew that the dogs were already asleep and in a giant pile of fur. All was quiet for hours, Gilbert was just starting to drift off when a howl broke the silence and echoed before fading away. Gilbert jerked awake and bolted upright into a sitting position. Despite himself, his ears perked forward. That howl had almost tickled a half-forgotten memory, like a wave that hadn't quite reach the beach before being tugged back out to sea. Another one followed it but this voice was different. When a third howl, from yet another wolf, echoed Gilbert could feel in the very fabric of his being that he had just heard three werewolves: not simple wolves.

Gilbert whined his tail hesitantly beat the ground as it wagged, part of him wanted to howl back but the other part was afraid too. He didn't know what would happen if he called out to them. Would they come and investigate? Would they fight him? Would they attack Elizabeta and the team? Or worse, would they ignore him? Gilbert's tail stopped wagging.

"Feeling lonely, Gil?" Elizabeta asked.

Gilbert looked over his shoulder at her. He let his ears fall and whined a little louder.

"Well just remember that they programed the Mars Rover to sing itself 'Happy Birthday'." She tried to soothe and, at the same time, bring some amount of humor to life. It didn't work. Gilbert shook his head as if he was shaking water off his pelt and then made his way over to her, sitting down at her side so that he could lay his head in her lap. Elizabeta's gloved fingers soon found themselves deep within Gilbert's silvery fur. The three werewolves howled again, this time as one, and Gilbert burrowed his face closer into his friend's stomach.

Elizabeta curled over him to rest her head on top of his. Gilbert wanted to answer them so badly that a tight knot had formed in his chest but he wasn't going to risk Elizabeta in the event that they wouldn't tolerate him in their territory. It hurt a little bit but Gilbert reasoned with himself that it would be fine. He had Ludwig and didn't _need_ anyone else. However, that didn't stop him from _wanting_ it any less.

The Mars Rover had it easier, Gilbert thought. At least it didn't know what it was missing.

* * *

It was torture.

Every night the three werewolves would call out. Every day they followed the team, although they were at such a distance that Gilbert never could catch their scents. The checkpoint in Kaltag came as a relief. The distance between it and the checkpoint in Unalakleet was one of the longer stretches of the race. Gilbert snorted at Elizabeta when she refused to tell him how long it was exactly.

Gilbert predicted that his lungs would burn when it was over so he slept the entire time they remained in Kaltag. The dogs impressed him the next day as they ran to Unalakleet. They were in good humor and high spirits so it shouldn't have been a surprise when they caught up to another team but their reaction caught Gilbert off guard. In hindsight it shouldn't have.

"Come on, Boss, faster!"

"We can take 'em—"

"—let's go—"

"— 'm up for it!"

"—show them what we got!"

Gilbert grinned. If only Elizabeta knew the depth of her team's fighting spirit.

"Let's see them keep up!" Gilbert challenged and ran faster which was met with cheers.

All day the two teams went back and forth against each other, it was a true show of endurance which, Gilbert wasn't at all surprised to see, his team won. They slept like the dead that night. In the morning Gilbert firmly ignored Elizabeta's girly 'aww, I wish I had a camera right now' when she saw him at the bottom of a dog pile. Jekyll and Hyde had their heads resting on his rump, Crash was curled up so close to his face that they were sharing the same air, Spade and Burn had taken up residence at his sides, and Ace was half way on top of him with his forearm lying across Gilbert's snout and his head resting on his neck.

The dog that bit him at the beginning of the race hadn't even crossed Gilbert's mind until the last day when they were running from Safety to Nome. The sky was cloudless and baby blue. It had snowed the night before and now the team was struggling through the fresh snow that reached their elbows. Elizabeta jumped off the sled and ran beside them, as she had done several times over the course of the race, when they started up a hill. Once they crested it she jumped back on. Gilbert's eyes widened as he saw the town of Nome below them. Against the snow and the sky it was beautiful to look at; or maybe that was just the adrenaline and relief that the end was in sight talking.

Oh, how ready he was for a beer and real food. He wasn't sure how much longer he could take eating dog food even if it was part of their camouflage.

Despite his elation at simply seeing Nome, Gilbert forced the dogs to keep the pace he had set and not speed up. This race wasn't about speed it was about endurance and stamina and if they sprinted for the town now they would only succeed in tiring themselves out before they reached the finish line. Of course Gilbert didn't have such beliefs when it came to his morning jogs with Ludwig, the last few blocks he always sprinted. Once the team reached the bottom of the hill and was running on flat ground again, the snow was much easier to push through.

Gilbert's gaze hadn't wavered away from Nome, it's almost midday and they're close enough to the town that a firework has been released and a bell starts ringing franticly, calling everyone to the finish line to watch them cross it and claim their place. Gilbert can only hope that it's First. The sudden appearance of another team took him by surprise, where just a moment ago they were alone, now they had angry, competitive dogs snapping at their heels.

The other team's lead dog drew up beside Gilbert with its teeth bared, teeth that he had already been introduced too. Gilbert snarled back, putting as much malice as he could into it, and was far too pleased with himself when the other dog wavered. Clearly remembering it's own acquaintanceship with the ground. The dog glared hatefully with a low growl before it pulled harder and drove the dogs behind it to move faster. Gilbert knew it was a bad idea to sprint now but Nome was _right there_ and that damn _dog_ was starting to piss him off.

Did that stupid thing honestly think it could beat a _werewolf_?!

Gilbert wasn't going to let this mutt have that satisfaction, even if the dog was born to be an athlete. No, Gilbert was doing this for Elizabeta, damn it to hell, he wasn't about to let her down. He had very few precious friends and he would move the world for them if they asked it of him.

Gilbert barked thrice, deep and low in his chest. It sounded more like a bon fire had been lit instead of an animal barking. Crash and Burn barked once in answer, Ace and Spade followed suite, and Jekyll and Hyde finished the domino. No sooner had the third answering call from the wheel dogs sounded that the entire team lengthened their stride, pushing themselves with their back legs and pulling themselves forward with their front.

* * *

The sound of loud cheers assaulted Arthur's ears and made them ring whenever someone too close to him decided to add their voice to the cacophony. Alfred, of course, didn't seem fazed at all. The bloody farm boy was grinning from ear to ear and looking completely at home in the press and jostle of bodies. Matthew was being his usual unnoticeable self and if he wasn't between Arthur and Alfred, the Englishmen had no doubt that he would have been elbowed in the stomach by now.

Alfred turned just enough to look at his pack mates, throwing a wink in Arthur's direction, before he focused on the Canadian.

"Do you remember what it looked like?" Alfred asked.

"Albino?" Matthew shrugged. It should have been enough to go on but it wasn't because it was common for pelts to change color when the two entities in a werewolf Meshed. Arthur himself had become a light cream color, bordering on white, when he had Meshed. Whereas Alfred had gotten darker, becoming such a rich brown that he had almost appeared to be black. Together, the three werewolves made their way through the crowd, but it was hard to tell which dog was the drone they were looking for.

 _Oh God,_ Arthur wanted to muffle his face in his hands. _I'm starting to sound like Alfred._

Many of them were white from a distance but up close it was obvious that they weren't actually white. They were pale, certainly, but they had a tint to them; some cream and others gray. It was close to being what they wanted but not exactly. Arthur was contemplating the best way to suffocate one's self while still maintaining a healthy amount of dignity when a sudden commotion broke out not too far away.

Surprisingly, or perhaps not since this whole Find-The-White-One was his idea from the start, it was Matthew who bolted forward. Alfred and Arthur struggled to follow after him but they managed it with no small amount of pushing. The sight that greeted them once they broke to the front of the crowd was hard for Arthur to comprehend. One of the female mushers; long brown hair, flashing green eyes, a charming knitted hat with a pink flower and the winner's medal around her neck, was in the middle of a heated argument with one of the male mushers.

Arthur's upbringing of being a gentleman was having a difficult time fathoming how anyone could raise their voice at a woman. In the back of his mind Arthur registered that one of her dogs, a big white one, was barking and struggling against its harness, which was nailed to the ground, rather fiercely. The man's face was high in color as he raged about cheating or something of the like.

Really, Arthur sighed, over competitive people where a major inconvenience to any sport because they stole the joy and accomplishment from those who had won and made the losers even more bitter because they would eventually start to agree with them.

But then the man made a huge mistake. Arthur's eyes widened as the sound of a harsh slap sounded throughout the cold air. The woman's head was jerked sideways from the force but, to her credit, she didn't stumble. There was a stunned silence as everyone tried to figure out what they could, or maybe should, do. Then there was the sound of a chain _snapping_ followed by a dark enraged roar that sent a shiver down even _Alfred's_ spine. A blur of white, a short surprised shout, and the fight was on. The woman's dog had finally gotten itself free and now had its teeth buried deep inside the man's forearm.

Only his thick winter coat kept the dog's teeth from finding flesh. But that didn't stop the huge animal from shaking the man as any good predator would to its victim. Somehow a dog from the man's team also got free and launched itself at the woman's dog. Arthur didn't care to see if the man had been helped to his feet or not, his eyes were firmly locked onto the white sled dog. By now the crowd was in chaos, screaming and yelling, a few brave—stupid—souls rushed forward to try and drag the dogs apart only to be bitten themselves.

Only their thick clothing saved them from any actual injury. Still it was enough for them to back off and not try again.

Arthur took a deep breath in and let it out in a relieved sigh when he didn't smell fresh blood. The dogs from both teams where going berserk, growling, snapping, and jumping in place to try to get free of their nailed down chains. The man was still trying to get at the woman, who was trying to get to her dog but the crowd was holding her back. The white canine fought like a demon, blood was already starting to stain his side and cover his teeth, he twisted and fought as if he had been train—

It wasn't a dog. Arthur's jaw dropped, bottle green eyes widening, and his eyebrows nearly met his hairline.

It had to be him, just _had_ to be. The dog fought methodically yet also instinctually. There was a higher intelligence behind those eyes. Those scarlet eyes that, at first glance, could be mistaken for being bloodshot or irritated; but no, that was their true coloring. Arthur pushed forward, ignoring Alfred's voice calling out his name, and grabbed the woman's arm before he forcibly dragged her away from the fight despite her loud protests.

"Let go, damn it!" She shouted and struggled against him. Thankfully, those who saw the fight start didn't try to stop Arthur as he pulled her along.

"Not that I mean any offence or disrespect but you really are a bloody wanker, aren't you?" Arthur asked as he stopped and turned to look at her.

"What?" The woman stopped struggling and stood there in stunned silence.

"This is the first time you're dog has fought for you, isn't it? Well, you don't have to worry about him. As soon as he notices you're gone he'll back off from the fight because he'll know you're safe." Arthur explained. The woman raised one fine brunette eyebrow. Arthur knew what she saw when she raked her eyes over him and took him in properly. No doubt she saw a man with untamable blonde hair, green eyes, big eyebrows, wearing a pea colored pea coat, a matching scarf, with sensible pants and boots.

Arthur didn't know what she found satisfying about him but she stopped scowling and started smiling at him instead.

"He's not mine. I'm borrowing him from a German friend but I gotta ship his pale ass back in a few days. You see, my lead dog split his pad open so I had to call in a favor sort of last minute. I'm happy that I got such a high maintenance creature," She gave him a significant look. "But you know all about that, don't you?" Arthur froze; his grip on her arm went slack until his arm fell back against his side.

She _knew_.

But as Arthur stood there and stared, he realized that she had not only known about him, she also knew about the werewolf on her team and had given him about everything he had wanted to know in a few short, seemingly innocent sentences. 'Borrowing him from a German friend' so he lived in Germany. 'Had to call in a favor sort of last minute' so it was completely voluntary that he joined her team; which told Arthur a lot. The albino werewolf was loyal and valued his friends so much that he would drop whatever he was doing if he had to. But he was also going home soon if the 'ship his pale arse back in a few days' was any indicator. If Matthew truly wanted to talk to him then he didn't have much time.

But most importantly was the 'He's not mine' comment. They weren't mates.

The woman leaned into Arthur's space. "His name is Gilbert. Go easy on him, would you, he's socially awkward around…creatures…like him because his little brother never needed as much exercise that he does." With a wink she turned and walked away.

* * *

Playing the last few days over in his head as he sat at a table in a bar-café-thing, Gilbert couldn't believe he had been in so many fights in such a short amount of time. It reminded him of his teenage years; back when he was still pissed off at the world and trying his hardest to make time for Ludwig while at the same time trying to understand how to deal with all his rage while keeping it firmly locked away from his little brother. His solution had been to pick as many fights as he could.

He had enjoyed beating the snot out of that dog and its musher but all good things must end. He had backed off as soon as he realized Elizabeta had left and was no longer in danger of getting hurt. Thankfully Gilbert's blood had stopped boiling around the time he had finished fishing his clothes out of Elizabeta's sled. He didn't know where she was now but he knew she'd find him when she was ready. After Gilbert had put clothes on; a black shirt, blue coat with fur lining the hood, black pants and his favorite combat boots, he had borrowed—without permission—Elizabeta's wallet and found the nearest place that had decent beer.

Gilbert took a sip before he shuffled around in his seat. His side was still sore but at least it was healed already and any remaining blood was easily hidden by his black shirt. The albino smelled another werewolf seconds before he dropped into his lap, literally. The blonde werewolf had amazing amethyst eyes, jaw length hair with an odd but endearing curl. He casually sat sideways on Gilbert's thighs as if they did this every day and smiled at him.

"Hi, I'm Matthew. Is this spot taken?" Maybe it was because Gilbert had become accustomed to being in a literal dog pile or maybe it had something to do with this man being the first werewolf Gilbert had ever set eyes on. Either way he was strangely comfortable with having him in his lap.

"Nope."

* * *

Elizabeta smiled into her cup of hot cider as she watched Gilbert from the corner of her eye as she sat on the other side of the café with her knew friends, Alfred and Arthur. The cute blonde in his lap was clearly comfortable right where he was perched, kind of like a bird. For her it was easy to tell a human from a werewolf. Years of watching Gilbert had taught her that they hold themselves differently, back straight, head held high, alert for danger yet relaxed. They also walked with a smooth roll to their steps, somewhere between stalking and strutting.

"Well, Gil, looks like you're not on Mars anymore."


End file.
